It has been forever since I wrote something! I feel like a lot of us Brittanaians have faded out because the show is so shitty. That being said, this kinda just wrote itself after watching Shooting Star. I'm out of practice so don't judge too harshly. Obvious trigger warnings here. Nothing too graphic or bad though. Just some grief and fear. This is based partially on personal experiences so I hope I captured the onslaught of emotion ok. Anyway, if you are reading thanks. :)
She was perched over the third step on the second floor of the run-down apartments when the buzzing from the bottom of her purse started. One vibration. Two vibrations. Fourth step. Fifth. The ping of a missed call broke through the heavy midday silence. Santana's slender fingers gripped the railing tighter as she continued her ascent. Her palm carried the cracking green paint as she rounded the corner. Three more flights and then home. Thirty-nine steps; twenty-eight breaths, 12 blinks; four missed calls; one life.
She was a mere yard from her door when the fifth call erupted. Seriously, she mumbled with her left hand already dipped deep into the darkness. The pads of her fingers floated over crumpled gum wrappers and the smooth cool glass of ruby red nail polish before making contact. Another vibration, the loud buzz, told the urgent story before the phone had even emerged. Something is wrong. Something is wrong.
The screen flashed "Mom" as the it continued it's dance. Six missed calls; another to come if her fear paralyzed her any longer. Santana unlocked the screen, placing the phone to her ear. "Is it Dad?" she gasped as her back flew to the wall. "What happened? Mom! Why are you crying?!"
The sniffling ceased on the other end as Maribel Lopez gathered her throats. The words stuck in her throat—too heavy to say, but too important to swallow. For how does a mother tell her daughter of tragedy? How does a mother steal away the innocence she once cherished? But Maribel knew, like a mother always done, that Santana had to know, and know she would.
"It's not your dad," Maribel whispered first. A sigh of relief filled the silence from the other side. But that was the easy part; here comes the battle.
"Mama, what's wrong? Please just tell me."
Oh what a tone to hear in a daughter. Frantic. Desperate. Just like the time Santana had decided to confess her feelings for Brittany. Brittany. Brittany. What can I say? Maribel's thoughts ran like river-water down a mountain. "Gunshots were fired...at McKinley today." The words are knives poised at a target. If words could kill this would be how. For Maribel listened as the poison spread. It seeped into Santana's head, infiltrating everything from her heart to her hands.
Santana's knees buckled; her body slid down the wall. She gripped her phone tighter as the tears decided to fall. "Is she ok?" the question exploded. "Is my Brittany ok?"
Maribel responded with an honest "I don't know." But Santana heard nothing. Santana heard null. Brittany was ok; she had to be. Brittany's a trooper; she has to be. "But Mija, listen, escuchame please. It's all going to be ok. The news is already showing the swat team going in."
Somewhere deep in the back of her mind Santana knew she should go inside. The news would be covering the story soon, but for now she knew there was nothing to do. "Keep me informed, Mama, can you please do that? But I can't talk right now; can you understand that?" Santana's questions came out in a gust. One breath too little; one breath she breathed.
"I'll text you as soon as I know more details, but I need to know Mija, are you ok?"
Am I ok? Santana asked herself. What is ok? My heart is in the midst of a seizure. My hands are sticky and going numb from my death grip. I can't feel my toes. I can't feel anything except waves of emotion drowning me under the pressure. "I'll be fine," I promise, but I know it might not be true. Until I know for sure what happened to her. She has to be here. She cannot be gone.
The thought won't stick no matter how much it tries. Brittany is fine. Brittany is alive. I know it. She has to be. Our time isn't over, just wait and see. And yet as Maribel says her adieus, that sick thread of doubt weaves a story possibly true. The line goes dead and Santana flinches. From her eyes descend the months of frustration.
A tear falls for each moment she missed. Senior class president debate. Cheer competitions, The times they should have kissed. A mangled whimper sounded for each moment they shared. The good, the bad, it all was there. As Santana's mind flew over the past years, a second passed, one that could never be replaced. Her time was short she realized as she cried. And as she looked toward the ceiling, imagining the skies, Santana asked whatever was up there to grant her some time. Promises were made to do better. Exclamations of sorrow filled the empty hallway.
It's difficult to say how long Santana sat there, but soon she grew cold and her body quivered. Kurt and Rachel passed by after their evening class, but the news hadn't broken; they didn't know yet. For the first time in years Santana didn't jump at the chance to be the gossiping type. They asked her why she was crying the hall, but she didn't answer so they left her with a blanket and tea. Some time after they heard the news, for suddenly the trio was all on the floor.
People walked by, exasperation painting their features, but the three musketeers barely took notice at all. It was just past eight when Santana's phone buzzed again. It broke the enchantment of these sorrowful souls. Here it was, the name she so longed to see. For Brittany was calling, thank the powers that be.
As Santana reread the name on her screen, the world turned from gray back to Technicolor. Santana's heart did a dance with a little stutter. She lifted her phone up to her ear, listened closely to the breathing so dear. It's her. She's fine! I'd know that breath anywhere. And so it was as Brittany chocked out a sob. "Santana," Brittany laughed into the speaker.
Just like always Santana's body responded; her own choking laugh mirrored that of her former lover. "Brittany. Jesus Christ. I thought you were...hurt. Are you ok? Should I come home?" Once the words started, they ran a million miles an hour. Santana couldn't stop; she wanted to know everything. "Is everything ok? Have you been shot? Where were you when it happened? I can leave on the first flight out if you want. Are you experiencing any pain? PTSD? What about-"
"Tana, calm down. Take a breath; just breathe. You sound like you've eaten two thousand packs of smarties."
"How could you make jokes at a time like this?" Santana begs as the tears continue to fall. But she's smiling still. She'll never stop smiling at all. Brittany is alive, what more could she ask?
"You're a mess, Santana. But I'm so glad you are. I was so scared in there without you, but so relieved as well."
"You were relieved?" Santana asked, the confusion momentarily halting the tears.
"Yeah. I don't know what I would have done had you been at the school. I was so scared for everyone's lives. Sam and Tina and that sweet girl Marley. Artie in his chair. Mr. Shue."
"Are they all ok?" Santana finally asks. She hadn't even noticed the glares her companions had been sending since the conversation began.
"Everyone's fine. No one was hurt."
"They're fine, relax. You can go back inside." Rachel and Kurt stood not missing their sign to leave. Santana wanted a few minutes of privacy. "Britt, I miss you. I thought I had lost you for good."
"I'm here, baby. And I promise not to leave without saying goodbye."
"I was so scared that I was never going to get to hear your laugh and see your smile. Kiss your lips. Hold you. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. You're my best friend, Brittany. I love you."
"I love you too, Santana. And if there is one thing thinking you are going to die will do to you it's that it will make you think. I was so scared that Sam was hurt. I didn't want him to die. But there was a whole other part of me that knew I'd rather he be in school that day than you. I don't know what I would do if I lost you. I don't-"
"Britt I'm not-"
"Let me finish, Santana. I let you go so that you would go to New York and do what is best for you. But I'm starting to see that you are what's best for me. I want to be with you in New York. I want to be with you when the time is right. I want you, Santana. And timing sucks because I'm here in Lima and you're out there and I've got a really sweet boyfriend who I really do like. He makes me smile. And he makes me forget how lonely I really am without you hear to listen to me laugh and watch me smile and kiss my lips. He makes a good placeholder. And I know that makes me a bad person, but I don't even care. You need to be in New York doing big things. And I need to graduate. But once I do I will come for you. And if I am lucky enough that you're still single, I'm yours. Proudly so. I didn't want to die without telling you that, Santana. I needed to tell you that I love you. I am still deeply, crazily in love with you. There's nobody else I want to spend the rest of my life with. But for now I have to make it through this part before the good stuff happens. Ok. I think I'm done."
Santana's jaw must have been somewhere on the floor below. Brittany loved her. Brittany loved her just as much as she knew she loved Brittany. Suddenly it didn't seem so bad. The next few months, sure they'd be lonely, but Santana was strong. She knew she needed to make something for herself so that she wouldn't waste all these sad months apart. Santana knew that in the end they would find their way back to each other because Brittany was the best thing that had ever been hers and she loved her like never before. "I love you, B. Take your time. Do your thing. We are gonna be ok."
And they were.
Thoughts? Anything?